


Come Home

by Rhysanoodle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysanoodle/pseuds/Rhysanoodle
Summary: Cassian discovers how Nesta has truly been living since they moved to Illyria and which fears haunt her the most.





	Come Home

It was getting late in the evening, and the bitter chill that always plagued Illyria was sweeping through the camp. As the winter months approached, they could only expect more brutal nights like this one. 

Cassian had just finished training for the day and was making his way back to his house to drop his equipment off when he spotted Nesta briskly walking to her small cottage a few blocks away. She looked miserable, bundled from head-to-toe and obviously doing her best to spend as little time in the chill night air as possible.

He sprinted to catch up with her, then began matching her strides. “Come to the bonfire tonight, Nesta,” he pleaded. He’d invited her this morning after their meeting with Devlon but had been met with cold disinterest. “Please. I know you want nothing to do with anyone here, including me, but every year at the turn of the season, we hold a bonfire on the first freezing night like this. It helps everyone warm up a bit. Lifts our spirits. And if I’m being honest, it’s one of the few traditions of theirs I miss whenever I’m in Velaris.”

They had reached her front door, and Nesta snapped without even sparing him a glance, “Leave me alone, Cassian. I’m not interested.” 

She slipped through the door, and he wedged his foot in the crack, sensing her intention to completely shut him out. “Please, Nesta. I miss you. Miss us. What happened? It’s been months, and you’ve still barely said a word to me.” He could hear the beginning of the fire crackling in the square signal it coming to life.

“I don’t owe you anything,” she bit out. She swung at his shin, causing him to jerk and remove his foot from the doorframe and quickly slammed the door in his face. Conversation over.

Not that anything they’d had in the past couple of months since she’d come to Windhaven with him could really be considered a conversation. She always showed up promptly whenever he requested her presence for a formal purpose, clearly just interested in keeping her meager allowance that was now conditional on her “following orders”, according to her sister, but she hardly said a word. Even then it was only when prompted.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Since Rhys and Feyre had sent the two of them to Illyria, not much had changed. She still seemed to be drinking herself under the table in her free time, though it was mostly alone now. He hadn’t seen her galavanting at bars or taking men home. No, she was perfectly content to sequester herself with only her bottles now.

Nesta still wouldn’t acknowledge what had happened between them during the war with Hybern. The way she tended to his wounds. The fact that she’d screamed his name frantically, saving him from that blast from the Cauldron. That she wouldn’t let him die alone, had shielded him with her body. And that gods-damned kiss. 

Not long after they arrived, he’d made the mistake of bringing it up once. She’d thrown a bottle of wine at his head, and he figured it was still best left unspoken between them. She’d have to face him eventually though. They couldn’t live side-by-side like this for the foreseeable future without coming to some sort of understanding.

He stayed on her porch for a few minutes more, waiting for her to turn a light on, to lock her door. She usually was so habitual about that at least, but perhaps she realized that he wouldn’t push her further tonight. The cottage remained dark and eerily silent, but he could now see that the fire had begun to blaze in the town square, and with a huff, he stomped off her porch, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

He spent hours around the bonfire, drinking and listening to and laughing at the many tales told by the Illyrian warriors. This was one of the few times he ever felt truly accepted by his people, the revelry and alcohol helping them to overlook the fact that he was a bastard-born nobody — and their superior. Tonight though, he couldn’t help a nagging feeling pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He would periodically glance over at Nesta’s cottage, and still saw no signs of life within. He knew it wasn’t his problem, but the behavior was unusual, even for her.

As the night crept into the early hours of the morning, the fire began to dwindle, and the festivities slowed, people stumbling drunkenly back to their cabins. Cassian sat frozen until the last of the Illyrians had left before dousing the flame, and walking away. In his stupor, he barely realized he’d walked straight to Nesta’s until he was almost stumbling on her porch. His instincts were roaring at him to check on her just to make sure she was alright.

He knocked quickly, not wanting to disturb her neighbors but willing at that point to face her wrath if he woke her up. No answer. He tried thrice more with no better luck. Checking the door handle, he was surprised to find it still unlocked. Even if in her hurry to slam him out of her life earlier, she’d forgotten to lock it, Nesta never would’ve trusted any of these brutes in the camps with her safety while she slept.

He crept inside, silently shutting the door behind him and essentially cutting out all sources of light. It was pitch black in here and beyond freezing. He cursed quietly as he tried to take a step into the main room and tripped on something. After recovering, he summoned a small Fae light, the luminescent sphere hovering above his palm, and took a look around.

Nesta. Holy gods. He’d tripped on her. She was curled in a ball on the floor, back against the wall and head in her knees, as if she was trying to block the world out. She was still wearing the same bulky winter clothes as when he’d seen her earlier in the evening, and he was willing to bet she hadn’t moved a muscle in hours. Had likely been this way since he left her here right before the fire. Which had to mean she was also stone-cold sober.

“Nes,” he crouched down next to her. No response. No sign that she’d even heard him. “ _Nesta_.” Cassian was at a loss for what to do. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hoping the comforting motion might coax her back to the here and now, to him. She slowly lifted her head, face gaunt and drained of all color. Her lips were blue with chill.  Her eyes opened slowly, taking a moment to adjust to the light, and he suspected they’d been stuck shut for hours.

“Hey, you’re okay. I’m here.” He gently laid a hand on her shoulder and was surprised when she didn’t jerk away from his touch.

“I’m not. Not okay.” Her breathing was hitched, the words barely a whisper. “The fire.” And that was it. She clammed back up, huddling into herself.

“It’s freezing in here. I’ll go light one for you. You need to warm up, Nes.”

“No.” The loud rasp was as close to a shout as he figured she could manage right now. He turned back toward her, and fully sat down on the floor now.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how to help you,” he growled, frustrated with his inability to do anything for her.

“I can’t stand fire. Haven’t lit one since that day. I don’t know how it doesn’t sound like the cracking of bones and snapping of necks to you.”

 _Oh_. Oh shit. Then certainly a giant blazing bonfire in the center of the camp, within spitting distance of her house had to be debilitating. It explained the state he now found her in. Unable to move, to function.

“We _survived_. I healed. I know your father — I know what that must’ve done to you. Cauldron knows I was a mess when I found out these bastards had worked my mom until she died, but he would have wanted you to live. To survive. It wasn’t your fault.”

At that she choked on a sob. The first he’d ever seen out of her. “I was ready to die. I wanted to die with you. I’m not sure how to want to live again.”

He pulled her into his lap, rubbing soothing caresses down her spine. “Come home, Nes. You’ve been gone too long. We’ll figure it out. Together. No matter how long it takes.” He breathed the words into her hair. Her chest didn’t stop heaving as he carefully stood up, Nesta still in his arms and made his way back home.

Back in his living room, he quickly extinguished his hearth and brought her into the bedroom. He gave her a comfortable set of fur-lined leathers to replace her bulky attire and helped her into bed, gently laying Nesta on top of him to share his body heat with her, and shielded both of them with his siphons to keep out the worst of the cold. Within minutes, she was asleep on his chest and looked peaceful for perhaps the first time he’d seen since the war.

For this — for her — he’d gladly stay awake all night, keeping his siphons activated and shielding her from the world. They’d take it one day at a time. She was home now.

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are the property of Sarah J. Maas


End file.
